A Writer's Notebook, Day One-Thousand-Three-Hundred-And-Thirty

I have no idea what to do about things.  It seems as if the only options that are possible are bad, even though I know it can't continue on the way it is.  I don't have any real hope for things, right at the moment, if I am honest with myself about it.  I want to, and I suppose that I keep making an effort, even though it feels pointless.  It must be there is some part that still believes it can get better.  It must be, or I wouldn't be doing any of it.  I recognize that, and am, in some way, grateful to still have that within me, though it makes it more painful to be stuck.  I need to find a way to make that part of me right, to make things better in a real way, but I don't know how.  I don't believe I can do anything that will make a real difference.

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